


Squeeze

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-25
Updated: 2003-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14469048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Simon needs a hug. (For the Hug Simon Now! challenge!)





	Squeeze

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

 

Squeeze

## Squeeze

### by Lemonlashes

Category: angst  
Archive: anywhere you like, just let me know Spoilers For: None  
Characters: They all belong to Joss. They're in good hands. 

Squeeze   
By Lemonlashes 

Simon needs a squeeze. 

Nothing erotic, you understand. Not that sex wouldn't be wonderful. And a much-needed release. But what he really needs is someone to crack his back. A chiropractor preferably, but there's no chance of that. Even if he dared go to a medicad, even if his face wasn't plastered everywhere and he had identification that would fool Alliance scanners, finding the right chiro is a tricky thing. And there are some things a surgeon can't do himself. 

Hung over, back twinging, he stumbles through Serenity's corridors, feeling the ache, wanting to nip it before he actually puts himself out of alignment. Simon's a firm believer in treating the first symptom. 

It is a shock to realize they've made landfall while he was sleeping. 

The ship is quiet, and the engines are off. He should have noticed sooner. The air isn't ship-generated atmo now... it smells like haylofts and honeybees. The vents are open to the outside. He can hear sounds... a busy dock, the shouts of people trading and arguing. 

Perfect. How like Mal to land, to do business, risk the crew and not even bother to tell him. After all, who is he? Just one of the resident fugitives, after all. One of the people who should know when they need to avoid the portholes, keep themselves cloistered. 

He presses his back against the cold bulkhead, letting the chill of steel provide a small comfort to the ache, which is growing into more than a slightly twisted back. It's the years of lost sleep as he studied, as he did his residency. Of mysterious letters and bad dreams about his sister bleeding tears from her fingernails. It's the double life he led while trying to find River, the hours spent in back-room clinics healing the Capitol's criminal element in hopes of learning something, anything. Pulling bullets out of people who--he was sure--his parents would have asserted were deserving of nothing but the most rigid form of reeducation. 

And now he's pulling bullets out of a more likable class of criminal and he never sees the inside of a hospital at all... 

*... unless he's robbing it...* 

and this is as good as he can expect it to get until they're caught. Because they will be caught. And he can't even guess what'll happen then. 

Though it'll probably be worse than a sore back. 

With the discipline borne of long years of practice, Simon pulls himself together. Shuts down the welling emotions, compartmentalizes. That's one kind of pain, and there's no point in letting it out. This--the back--is fixable. All he needs is someone strong and a little tall. Like Mal or Shepherd. Even the man-ape would do. 

Instead he finds Zoe. 

"Cap'n said not to wake you," she tells him as he rounds the corridor into the kitchen. "We landed rough, but nobody's hurt. Kaylee said you two were up drinking last night, and he thought you could use the rest." 

He feels a wash of guilt at his pettiness. "River?" 

"She's watching some dials for Kaylee. Ship needs repairing." 

"We're grounded?" He swallows. "Is this an Alliance world?" 

"Only temporarily. And aren't they all Alliance worlds?" Her eyes glint; remarkable, red lips tilt in a smile. "But this one's no worse than usual. Wash and Mal decided not to dock at Hurley." 

Hurley. Basically a garrison. No landing there but that you're searched... and thoroughly. He feels another small twinge of guilt... and then another big one between his shoulderblades. 

"It's your back, isn't it?" 

"Pardon?" 

She stands, twirling a finger to indicate he should turn around. He's been so groggy he forgot he's shown her this once before. He'd willfully forgotten--he hasn't really wanted Zoe near him in her back-up medic capacity since he fucked her husband. There'd been some ugliness the day she took the bullet out of his leg, a threat of insufficient anesthetic... 

But Simon turns his back on her now. Crossing his arms, he puts each hand up on its opposing shoulder. Zoe comes up behind him, reaches around to cup each elbow in her palms, and then lifts him up and back. His head rocks back into the curve of her neck. His back bounces against the tightly bound cushion of her breasts. There's a jolt as his feet come off the deck, gravity trying to suck him down. 

A series of pops from his spine, a loosening of tension. Zoe shakes him once, like a toy, eliciting another series of cracks, and sets him down. 

She does it faster than he expected, all but tossing him... and Simon stumbles forward. Someone's coming towards the galley. He falls... 

Into Wash's arms. 

It's an awkward moment. There's the heat of the pilot's body against him, so different from his wife's... and too well known. Too familiar, especially with Zoe right behind him and more than capable of making wrong what she just made right. 

A single blow with the edge of her hand and Simon could be wielding a scalpel with his teeth. 

And he must be near some kind of edge, because the thought makes Simon laugh. He barks twice, and then just collapses harder even as Wash guiltily tries to push him upright, tries to stand him away. 

And then... God, this is terrible... it's not laughter that's shaking him anymore. 

Simon all but collapses, sobbing, waiting for one or the other to reject or kill him. Tears are running down his face and he just can't seem to stop. He cries like the child he never really was, half draped on Wash's body. 

And finally he feels Zoe's hand all right, but it just rests on his shoulder for a second. A kind touch, not forgiveness but some kind of short-term truce. And with that Wash's arms come around him in a real embrace, a squeeze that could mean it's okay or I'm sorry or even just man, you weigh a lot. And it probably means all of those things and none of them, and Simon doesn't know. 

And it doesn't really matter, does it? They're holding him up; he doesn't have to. The shoulder under his face is wet, the hand on his back is patting him. For a second , at least, he lets himself feel safe. 

Soon enough the wave of emotion crests, recedes. Simon pulls a handkerchief out of his vest, blots and blows, tries to raise his eyes from the deck and finds he can't. He's still standing there between them, Wash and Zoe, and he feels suddenly how wrong that is and tries to slide out from between. 

He's expecting them to pull back fast, like he's something afire or contaminated, but their hands only come away slowly. 

He's grateful for that, he finds. 

Wash's voice follows him as he staggers "We all have our crap days, Simon." 

He nods. Finds he can look back, meet Wash's eyes. Then he looks at Zoe, too. She's not smiling the way her husband is, but she isn't angry either. And that's... something. A relief. 

"Crap days... I'm not actually sure this is one of them," he says. Wash bobs his head, seeming to get it, and disappears into the galley. 

"Cap'n should be back soon," Zoe says. 

"Probably with a raft of injuries," he says. 

"Like as not. You feeling better?" she asks. 

"It doesn't hurt anymore." 

"Good," Zoe says, and then she's gone too, following her man. 

Taking a long shaky breath of the honey-scented air, Simon winds his way back to the infirmary. He rinses his face, washes his hands. Looks at the treatment bed and the diagram of the spine he pulled up on the cortex. 

Simon shuts the monitor off, flicking its switch with the barest touch of his highly trained hands. 

\--end-- 

#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Lemonlashes


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